It Started with a Kiss by Miranda Dickinson

Author:Miranda Dickinson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2011-11-02T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Could it be magic?

Hi. My brother told me about your Encounters advert and I had to contact you. I think we should meet. Please email me (address below).

Thanks, Mark.

The late reply to Wren’s Encounters advert took both of us completely by surprise. Wren was so beside herself with excitement that she rushed over to the radio station after work, clutching a printout of the email, and blagged her way to the Bat Cave in order to personally deliver the news. Meanwhile, Uncle Dudley was thrilled when he heard about it – proof, as he put it, of ‘uppage being at work’.

The weekend after Mark’s email arrived, I found myself sitting on a bench on the canal towpath just outside my house, trying my hardest to stay calm as I listened to the ringing tone on the other end of the mobile line. It was Saturday afternoon and already Mark and I had exchanged several emails since his Encounters reply yesterday lunchtime. Unlike Sleazy Sebastian, I had high hopes for Mark: his emails, while brief, indicated that he remembered me and was keen for us to meet. All that remained now was to hear his voice.

The ringing ended and I held my breath.

‘Hello?’

It sounded deep enough, but was it his voice? ‘Hi, is that Mark?’

‘Yes it is. Romily, right?’

‘Yes. Hi.’

‘Hi.’

As conversations go, this one wasn’t likely to win any awards, but what we talked about was immaterial. I needed to hear his voice to be sure.

‘I think we should meet,’ I said finally, after a few more awkward minutes of stilted conversation. ‘Do you know George – the narrowboat café at Brindley Place?’

‘Yes, I know it well. Let’s say ten am tomorrow?’ The more I heard his voice, the more convinced I became.

‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’

‘Great. Till tomorrow, beautiful.’

Everything within me froze in time, as Mark’s last word reverberated around my mind. Beautiful – that was the word I’d been longing to hear! There was no way he could have known the significance of the word unless he was my PK.

Shaking a little, I dialled Wren’s number.

‘Hey, this is Wren. I’m hopefully out doing unspeakable things to a gorgeous man right now, or maybe I’m wrangling a class of fourteen-year-old drama students – you decide. Anyway, I can’t answer my phone, so if you’re still listening, leave a message. Or, if you’re my boss, this answerphone message was recorded as part of a Stanislavskian improvisation exercise designed to investigate how close drama can be to reality before it actually becomes reality itself. Bye!’

I smiled. Only Wren could turn something as mundane as an answerphone message into a piece worthy of an Olivier Award.

‘Wren, it’s me. The voice fits, I repeat, the voice fits. I’m meeting him tomorrow morning in Brindley Place, so I’ll come straight to yours afterwards. I think this could be it!’

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